It didn't even take Lucas a minute to decide where the message that Sir. Milen had discussed before was. He only had to look down at his sword as he tried to figure out which pocket the man might have stuffed it into before he smiled.

"Son of a bitch," he said softly to himself as he realized the simplicity of the plan.

The weight and the balance of the blade had felt a little off to him from the first moment, but he'd ignored it because it was just a practice sword. Now that he was looking at it, though, he could see a gap where the handle met the hilt. He'd thought it felt cheap, but it was more than that.

For the moment, though, he resisted the urge to open it. Instead, he went down to his room and poured a pitcher of water into a basin to wash his hands and face. Then, while he was alone, or at least probably alone, he twisted the handle off of the blade and worked the tightly wrapped note free from where it had been hidden.

Lucas didn't read it then. He opened it up just to see if it was written in Danaria's graceful handwriting. He was a little disappointed to see that it was written in Kar'gandin's crabbed script. The dwarf didn't sign it, but Lucas had read so many letters and ledgers written by the dwarf that he wasn't likely to forget the way the man wrote any time soon.

Once he verified it was just about business and not about his woman, Lucas folded the thing and tucked it into his shirt. He would read it in the bathroom after dinner, just to make it less likely that it was going to be read by anyone unseen.

That way, I can just destroy it in the water when I'm done, he told himself as he walked downstairs toward the dining room.

Lucas wasn't normally one for cloak-and-dagger shit. Even at Blackgate, he hadn't exactly lived in fear of whoever it was that was watching him. Here, though, for at least for as long as he was stuck in his current circumstances, he was going to have to take it all a bit more seriously.

Dinner that night was a nut-encrusted fish, and though there were many sides and deserts, the portions were much more reasonable than they'd been for his initial feast. Lucas considered that a small victory, and though he had to skip the narcotic wine and the caramelized pudding spiked with aphrodisiacs, he had an excellent meal.

While he ate, he chatted with his waitresses, who were the blonde-haired Mirin and the black-haired Ranala. Both were reasonably well-behaved, and when he asked Ranala to have a bath filled for him when dinner was done, she refrained from making any jokes about making sure it was steamy or asking him if he wanted her to wash his back, which he appreciated.

Mirin, for her part, seemed almost cowed by his instructor's boorish behavior earlier that day and acted nervous all evening. Lucas ignored that. He wanted nothing to do with either woman. Instead, he ate as quickly as possible, and it was only when his bath was drawn and his robe was laid out he stripped, entered the tub, and unfolded the letter to read it.

'Lucas, by now, you will have settled in. First, the bad news. Many, or dare I say most, of the manor servants and staff, including Gerwin, are dead. Most of the guards and other laborers lived in the village, so they survived. Even your half-orc friend pulled through. He isn't as pretty as he used to be, but he bears his scars as a badge of honor. I could go on for a page about how honorable it is to survive a fight with a dragon, but I'll let him tell you the stories when you rejoin us.'

That last bit made Lucas smile, but only a little. He hadn't expected Hu'ragh to survive, so that made for a nice surprise. Everything else was sad enough to border on devastating, though.

Lucas and Gerwin had never been close. The man obviously had never approved of his sort. Still, he'd been good for Danaria, and she would certainly have turned out worse if not for her faithful manservant. That was probably all that had really shielded her from her brother and his bad choices, ultimately. For that, Lucas owed him a debt, and he felt terrible that he'd never be able to repay it. Fortunately, the rest of the letter contained better news.

'Your lab was retrieved intact, and we have supplies for a good long while of normal operations, which have already resumed. Likewise, our funds are safe, and construction on your backup location proceeds apace. You just let me know what you want and when you want it, and we'll be ready for you.'

Lucas had to admit he was grateful for the update. He was almost touched that the dwarf had found a way to reassure him that Danaria was safe without ever mentioning her, too. He didn't write a response that night, though.

Tired as he was, he went almost directly to bed once he'd destroyed the paper and secured his doors. Sir Milen wouldn't be back for at least two days, and that if they even let him in the building, so Lucas had time to formulate a response.

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While falling asleep that night was a blissful experience, waking up the next morning was a painful one. Everything hurt. Everything in every part of his body hurt. "I really got to do this shit more often," he told himself.

While Lucas lay there feeling sorry for himself, he flipped open his interface and, on whim, decided to spend six of his remaining 33 points to increase his strength, toughness, and agility by one each. It probably wasn't the best way to make decisions, but yesterday had been a real wake-up call for him. Without potions, he was kind of useless, and he needed to get better and stronger. That meant he had to get better, of course, but it also meant he had to use this bullshit magic system for more than just alchemy.

Even with both, I might not be strong enough to face a dragon, he told himself, reflecting as he stared at the ceiling.

As he did so, he flipped open his achievements and took a look. Fancy Footwork was the achievement he was pinning all of his hopes on right now, and it was showing 46% complete. He was pretty sure when he'd checked it last before everything had gone to shit, it was 44%, so he was making progress.

It's just not fast enough, he sighed.

It was that thought that finally forced him from bed. He rang the bell for tea and breakfast to be brought to his room, and then when he'd eaten and composed himself, he summoned the head maid, Ranala, to let her know what he was changing.

"Yes, Master?" she said when she appeared in his doorway while he was sitting at his writing desk in his robe. "You summoned me?"

"I did," Lucas agreed. "I want to make a few changes around here for the duration of my stay."

"Anything," she volunteered,

"No more sweets or wine," he said. "Light on the bread and pastries, too. From now on, I want meat, leafy greens, and some fruit. Nothing else."

"W-why?" she asked.

"Will that be a problem?" he shot back.

"No, o-of course not, sir. It's just that… It's a strange request. You'd be eating like a peasant." the head maid swallowed hard as she tried to compose herself. "When you are a guest of the Prince, you can have whatever you desire. Why limit yourself?"

"Mourning ritual," Lucas lied. "It's important to me. It's this or fast. I've been too decadent for too long."

She nodded, and left, confused. Lucas, on the other hand, kicked himself for not coming up with a better cover story. He needed to do everything he could to get healthy, but he probably didn't need to announce to the world that he was on the warpath.

Once he finished beating himself up, he got dressed, and then he started on his response to Kar'gandin. That didn't take long. He let the dwarf know that he was happy and that the updates sounded good. He apprised him of negotiations with the Prince and that the reparations would take the form of tax forgiveness as opposed to real coin. He also let him know that his contact with the outside world had been very limited and that if they needed to, he would start leaving notes on his windowsill again, though for now, that wasn't necessary.

The one thing he didn't talk about was Danaria. It was too big a risk, even obliquely. He had no way of knowing if a mage was scrying on him or if his weapon would be searched while he slept. So, he kept everything as businesslike as possible.

Once that was done, Lucas finally got to work. Though dressing was another painful exercise for his stiff limbs, he wandered out into the garden and spent some time doing stretches and warm-ups. After that, he worked himself nearly as hard as his instructor did. He didn't feel any faster or stranger, but he would. He told himself that.

Every time he got tired, he reminded himself, Skylara is going down, or you are, man. You take it easy; you might as well be letting her win.

It was true, but more importantly, it was an easy way to unlock the anger that was inside of him, which was the real fuel he needed to take things to the next level. Lucas trained hard on the days he was alone and on the days that Sir. Milen showed up to offer him additional instruction he trained even harder.

That became the rhythm of Lucas' life for the next week. Some days, he was in the garden alone, with only a sullen dryad for company, and other days, he was in the ballroom with his trainer as they exchanged ever more vicious blows, and each time, at the end of the lesson they switched swords surreptitiously, allowing Lucas to get and receive notes from the outside world.

Lucas still hit the man only occasionally, but every day, he could feel himself becoming more confident in his strikes. He wasn't the only one, either.

Every day or two, his achievement ticked up by a point as he made more of an effort to stick to the actual strikes the knight was trying to teach him and not just doing whatever worked when the fighting got fierce. First, you learn to do it right, then you learn to do it the way that's right for you, he reminded himself more than once when he got frustrated.

Lucas couldn't remember if that advice had come from the teacher of his wood shop class or his automotive technology class before he'd dropped out of high school. He hadn't listened to it at the time, but it had been good advice, and he tried to use it now.

Still, eventually, he started to feel like a caged beast. No matter how hard he trained, he knew he didn't belong here. A cage with gilded bars was still a cage, and no matter how well they fed him, he wanted out. Fortunately, just as he was getting ready for bed, Ranala came to notify him. Heisenburgle had finally arrived.

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